A Warm Winter
by JustAPerson27
Summary: Matthew farms to keep his brothers living the lives they should and Gilbert bartends for similar reasons. When Matthew visits his uncles in Chicago, the bar where they meet no longer holds the same old man serving drinks.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I'm back. **

**I hope you enjoy this new PruCan story. I felt Matthew would make a good farmer and Gilbert a great bartender so, yeah. **

**Um... Lots of death again in this first chapter so I'm sorry. **

**Please enjoy and review. **

* * *

Matthew had driven tractors since he was ten. His family farm had been passed down through generations. His grandparents passed away a few years ago and the farm had been given to his parents.

Matthew and his twin brother Alfred were adopted their parents when they were eight. Long nights in the orphanage and foster care paved way for memories of a much more simplistic and loving childhood.

They were full of two figures full of love and warmth and Matthew still believed that there was no greater love than what they shared.

The bus came to the end of their mile-long driveway and took them to school each morning. The school was small, but Matthew had known of smaller so he didn't mind much. Alfred made friends with the entire school and Matthew hung out with the two immigrants. They were the only people in the school who weren't from America. Two Italian twins made a space in Matthew's heart.

Matthew and Alfred would often go over to their house to play, engaging in water battles and mud wars in the backyard that quickly turned to apologies and book reading indoors. Reading, however, was only done in splices at the boys eagerly chatted with each other. Other days, they'd play tag or cops and robbers and Alfred always had to be a cop.

When they were done, the Vargas' would take them to the end of their very long driveway and the boys would walk the rest of the way home. They'd do chores around the farm, and then homework, finishing their exhausting days with whispers under covers until their parents would read them to sleep.

Matthew was thirteen. They were planning on getting a new tractor; one with a cage over the seat but the funds were too tight that year. The rain had caused planting to be moved back to the deadline and this was the only time they could get the seeds in before the insurance gave in.

It was dark out and Berwald should have been back in by that time. Tino had finished making a late dinner and told Matthew to tell him to come in whether he was close to finishing or not.

He was the first to find him. He had taken the gator to search the fields but knew which one he had left that day. It took him a good ten-minute drive to arrive at the scene.

Matthew vaguely remembers jumping out to search for the large man beneath the hunk of metal. Hearing a groan had only made him wish he could pull the man out, but without a visual, he knew there was no hope and heading back.

It another ten to go back for to get to their landline. It was the only way to make a call where they were at.

It took twenty minutes for the ambulance to arrive with the fire department and some others. Another thirty to get him out from under the tractor and just a second for everyone standing in the general vicinity to know he was dead.

Matthew remembered Tino's face and the horror on it that showed much more now than when the news had first arrived. He remembered looking to Alfred who was trying hard to stay brave as water dared to let itself break past his floodgates.

And Matthew remembered feeling nothing. The distinct feeling of empty hitting him as he just stared at the crushed body of his beloved father figure.

Everything around him went in slow motion. Those who tried to get him out, thinking that they could save him, only were pulled back by others who knew it was impossible. The screams and cries of Tino as he ran to the body, kneeling over it, didn't reach his ears.

Alfred turned away. Hiding his face, glancing just briefly at Matthew.

And then, Matthew looked down. A baby boy. Peter was the new addition to their family. The papers had just been filed days ago. And now, he had lost a father.

Peter was silent. He was sleeping despite all the noise around him and Matthew envied him. He placed a hand on this brother's shoulder, looking back out to Tino and his beloved.

He knew they both remembered their mother's death. They were both five when it happened. The dead eyes that looked down at them hauntingly as they walked through their doorway, coming home from a friends house. The dead eyes that stared into their souls, telling them both it was their fault as the body floated in mid-air and the mother of another child screamed behind them.

And now it was back. More dead eyes to let Matthew know he had failed. He took a deep breath and instead looked down at Peter.

Life. He would still have a good life. Alfred and Tino would too. Matthew would make sure of it.

And now, Matthew drove the tractor. Alfred tried to convince his brother he could help but Matthew had none of it. Schoolwork and friends were given up to provide for the family.

Tino had been broken. It pained both of them to see the shell of a human they loved to walk the halls of their home. It reminded them too much of their mother in the years before her death.

Matthew hadn't expected it to hurt his father figure so much. Sure, he expected the sadness, but the man who only looked out the window from day-break to dusk was not Tino. Berwald had explained Tino's story long ago and it wasn't pretty. He had endured so much. It amazed Matthew especially and now, he thought the man had caved.

Losing someone you love. Matthew had done that. It hurt, but he got over it. It made him wonder if losing a lover was different. If it would be something akin to losing his brother, should that ever happen. He came to the realization that it would, maybe, be simpler and easier not to fall in love.

Matthew took care of almost everything at home. Cleaning, cooking, bills, Peter. He'd stay up late into the night and wake early in the morning. Alfred offered help wherever he could but Matthew refused, always saying, "You need to keep going, Al. For the both of us."

Opportunity had reached their limits for Matthew and that was okay with him. He dropped out of high school to work full time at the farm. But he saw so much more for Alfred. And Alfred knew that so he tried hard and kept his grades up. He applied early to colleges and, with whatever luck, got into the University of Chicago.

Matthew remembered the day that letter came. Tino's eyes held some other emotion than grief as he looked at Alfred who was nearly crying with joy.

Matthew baked a cake, chocolate of course, and they all celebrated.

In January of Alfred's senior year, Tino had been hospitalized due to cancer and had an expected time of a month which ended all too soon.

At the funeral, they were re-introduced to two uncles: Lukas and Anderson. They had met the two over the years a couple of times but were never really close. Anderson explained that they lived in Chicago and would come down to help with budgeting and expenses each month.

The first time was strange. They showed up unannounced which scared Matthew at first. There was only one car that ever drove down their road and that was Alfred's fixer-upper Ford that the neighbor sold to them for fifty bucks after Berwald passed.

He was sitting on the porch, whittling a small replica of their new dog Matthew got shortly after Hanatamago's death. It was a Maremma sheepdog named Kumajiro who was currently sleeping in front of him. When the dog's head lifted and started barking, Matthew looked in the same direction to find a sleek car that he would later find out was a rental.

After their session of sorting out the different bills and things Matthew would have to finish for the month, he suggested, once Alfred went to college, meeting them in Chicago for a weekend.

They all agreed. For the next couple of months though, the meetings would happen at the farm and Matthew would never get used to them.

When Alfred graduated, Matthew and Peter were in the bleachers of the gymnasium that held the most people it did all year for the class numbering around 47 students.

Matthew knew he was supposed to be number 48. He wanted to be down there too but deep breathes in told him he was okay with not being.

Alfred graduated with high honors as valedictorian. Matthew cried when he mentioned their mother, Berwald, Tino, and finally Matthew whom he had stand to receive applause.

After the ceremony, he had the chance to visit with the two Italian brothers, who were also off to Chicago for school.

Because Alfred was the only one in the house with a driver's license, it worried Matthew that, when he left, groceries would be hard to come by. He found that many people in town had grown found of Alfred and decided that someone would help by delivering groceries every week as well as help them find a ride when they needed one.

Alfred was off and Matthew and Peter were left by themselves.

Alone.

Well, alone together.

Peter was a smart boy. Energetic and excitable. It reminded Matthew of Alfred when he was young. Taking care of him was similar and it was definitely something he found himself able to do.

It was odd waking Peter up for school without also waking Alfred. It was like another hole had been placed in Matthew's day-to-day that he precariously fixed by picking up another hobby: organizing.

To onlookers, it seemed like nothing changed. Peter knew though. He knew Matthew missed Alfred and the only way to make it stop was to do something else. For the next few weeks, when Peter returned home and Matthew wasn't busy with something else, he could be found in the attic, going through years of stuff.

Matthew never got rid of anything. He never thought like it was his to get rid of.

He'd help Peter with his homework and make a small meal and read him to bed.

Every month, during a weekend, the two would visit the city. A bar in the city would be where Matthew's pick up his uncle Anderson and leave Peter with him to explore the city while he'd head back to the apartment to do bills and paperwork with his uncle Lukas. On their way home, they'd visit Alfred but eventually head home early enough for Peter to finish his homework, which Matthew would remark "should have been done Friday".

A year passed. Alfred had decided his course of study would be astro-physics and Matthew couldn't think of a better field of study for him. He remember'd the days staring up at the stars together while still in the orphanage. It was the only thing that would ever keep Alfred still and quiet enough to fall asleep.

And now, Matthew was nineteen and so was Alfred. Peter was seven.

It was the first time Matthew had ever gone to the windy city without Peter who had decided to spend the weekend with a friend instead who's mother instantly insisted Matthew spend the week with his uncles as well since it was winter and he "never got a proper break".

When he called the two, Lukas picked up and instantly agreed to house him for the stay. He decided he'd have Anderson finally show him a few things around the city and maybe take his wood carvings and try to sell them somewhere there.

When Matthew got on the train, he sighed, letting himself plop onto the nearly empty car. He was alone and for once, being alone wasn't so bad. His thoughts were filled with the experiences he would have in the big city instead of their usually dread.

What could Matthew say? The city had its charms.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilbert frequented his grandfather's bar since he was young. Not because he could drink there or anything like that. His parents were often out of town for business.

Being home alone was no fun for the boisterous boy and spending it there meant he'd be noticed and talked to by the other customers. Though he'd mostly spend his time on homework and helping his baby brother, Ludwig, figure out his.

His favorite parts of the day happened there. The regulars always greeted him with smiles and told the best stories. It didn't matter to Gilbert that the tales were obviously fake; their grandiose words and heroic meaning swept him away into his imagination, letting it all come to life.

Ludwig had tried to convince him to read because it was "basically the same thing", but it wasn't. Not for Gilbert.

The tone of the voice, their excitement in being able to share a part of their life or pass it off as something greater than it was, the speed at which they told it: these were all things that Gilbert loved and he knew the books wouldn't give him.

He could ask questions to these people and they'd have an answer better than any he could come up with on the spot.

The bar was home for him. And as he grew, that never changed.

Gilbert heard one of his favorite stories when he was fifteen. An older man had stopped in the city and almost passed by their pub.

His short, curly brown hair had streaks of grey which allowed for the wrinkled face to appear slightly younger while still revealing its age.

He seemed to have spent time with his grandfather before and told a story of the two of them Gilbert decided he would never forget.

The man was an obvious storyteller. His hands twisted to create images or enhance the story. A general smile lit up he features, but at times, they would grow dark and solemn. His grandfather also watched and listened, which was fairly rare. Amusement was etched onto his usually stoic face.

A war-torn Europe and the two were enemies. The man in front of Gilbert was in the Italian resistance and his grandfather was serving his country. Every once in a while, Gilbert's grandfather would add a couple of details or explain why he'd do something.

Gilbert wouldn't remember the stories because they were grand. He'd remember them because it was some of the only things he learned about his grandfather. It connected them and he couldn't get enough.

Gilbert's head was held up by his hands, elbows rested on the bar counter as he was slowly being lulled to sleep by the man's gruff voice. It was late now. Too late now for him to keep his eyes from drooping. He announced he'd walk himself home.

As he walked out, he could hear the two speak in hushed tones about old times.

* * *

Despite being in a school full of many children, as per large cities, Gilbert found himself feeling alone. Not always, just in those spaces of the day when the people around him stopped talking and the chatter in the day lulled.

He had friends. Both like him, from out of the country. Francis was from France and Antonio was from Spain. Gilbert was from Prussia, or at least that's what he had always believed. Together, the three terrorized teachers and pranked pupils to their heart's content.

At times, they'd go to the bar together and get shooed out by the other workers. Roaming the streets of Chicago was decidedly no fun for the boys so they'd always go to Gilbert's house. It was the biggest.

They'd stay in and watch movies and generally just talk.

When Gilbert graduated from high school, he wasn't really sure what he wanted to do with his life. He really didn't do anything. He didn't go to college or get a job. He just sat at home, writing down different stories he remembered being told growing up.

Francis and Antonio called them his diaries but Gilbert didn't mind too much.

The next year, Ludwig graduated and was accepted into the University of Chicago. It blew Gilbert's mind that his little brother had grown to be so intelligent without him noticing.

Promptly after the graduation, he declared he'd take some time in Germany.

So, he did.

Once there, he was placed with a family member and got a job as a bartender. His platinum hair and flashy red eyes seemed to impress many who came through the doors.

He learned how to mix drinks flashily to impress girls and at some point, he ended up picking up a chick whom he promptly named Gilbird. The yellow bird often found it's home in the nest that was his hair. After realizing there was nothing he could do about it, he'd take the bird to the bar as well. His boss told him not to a few times but found it was useless and let the bird continue to sit atop his head.

He frequently called Ludwig, just to keep track of him but it often felt like the other way around.

When he told Ludwig he had gotten a bird, he could practically hear a smirk on the other side of the phone. The news of the bird also came with news of returning to Chicago and helping run the bar.

He'd come back in time for Christmas and start working at the bar after his birthday.

* * *

Gilbert had decided that coming back to Chicago during the winter was possibly one of the worst choices he could have made.

The biting wind cut through his already heavy coat. They didn't call it the Windy City for nothing he supposed. Still, it seemed like it was colder than he remembered.

Looking up at the tall building, some of which held an old character and others that shone with the light of the sun that tucked itself behind a cloud. It felt weirdly like home and he was glad to be back.

A simple chirp came from his hair as he continued walking, letting his eyes look forward and his head leveled out allowing a more comfortable trip for Gilbird.

A smile graced his face before another bought of wind almost knocked him over as he went over a small bridge. He stuck his tongue out at it before continuing his walk.

Christmas was secretly one of Gilbert's favorite holidays. Not because of the presents or anything. It was the midnight church service. He couldn't help being excited.

When he was young, it was the only time his grandfather would let him stay up late. It was also the only time he heard him sing in German.

Stille Nacht.

It was at the end, around one in the morning, when candlelight was passed from one flimsy plastic candle holder to the next. The book was lit up with it and Gilbert never sang the words. He'd just sit, and listen to his grandfather's voice. The song seemed important to him. And it was the only time he ever sang.

Gilbert was glad to find nothing had changed in the two years he'd been away. Ludwig had joined them at the entrance and his grandfather, although older now, would still sing the lyrics like they held something much more than words.

And now, when he looked at the older man, it was evident that his face smoothed out, a small smile gracing his face and he seemed more serene than Gilbert had ever seen him before.

They walked home from the old church and, per tradition, stopped at a grave nearby to lay flowers at its base.

* * *

New Years was exciting, to say the least. He had joined his grandfather at the bar and got the chance to meet the regulars again. There were more than last time but Gilbert didn't mind.

Ivan showed up first. He didn't say much and the creepy vibes he gave off made him hard to approach. He ordered a vodka and simply said to keep it coming for the rest of the night as he sat in the corner, positioning to watch the rest of the bar.

Another man stumbled in soon after, seemingly already drunk. Arthur, Gilbert would soon know, stopped at a bar up the street until this one opened. Then he'd make his way here to drink until his grandfather cut him off. He'd simply lay his head on the counter afterward if it had been a bad day or go crazy and run around the bar practically naked until he passed out somewhere.

Although not quite old enough yet, he helped out serving and tending, getting acquainted. He was glad to see Roma still came and had decided to join them. With him were two brown haired boys that looked very similar. One was very moody and the other held a pep in his step.

Roma made sure to mention them being underage with a wink as he drank away, telling his magnificent stories like always.

A man named Anderson had brought a friend, Lukas, along. The two were stark contrasts of each other. The first, a bundle of joy and loud, and the other looked like he didn't want to be there. Every once in a while, Gilbert would see a light grin playing on Lukas' face when he thought no one was looking as he practically ogled Anderson.

Feliks and Toris had come in together. The aforementioned pulling the other through the door saying, "This is, like, the best place ever!" They were both fairly young but Toris looked thoroughly worn out and sat at the counter while Feliks ran off to greet the others and introduce himself to Gilbert.

He had invited his own friends who showed up fashionably late, obviously.

They busted through the door together, arms hooked and smiles wide. Gilbert immediately went to them, arms outstretched. The group joined in a hug that seemed much needed. They talked for much of the rest of the night.

At one point, the two had drifted off. Francis poked and prodded Arthur until the man threw up, which Gilbert's grandfather made him clean. Antonio took a liking to the Italian boys in the corner and they talked rapidly for a while before Antonio came back to his seat to sit back down.

The night was fairly quiet. It was loud but it just wasn't Gilbert's loud. Something was missing still. Something seemed off. He still felt alone, sitting there with all of these people that he knew and loved.

It didn't make any sense to him but he kept his thoughts to himself.

He looked over to the man in the corner, alone with his bottle of vodka watching the crowd. He seemed alone too.

Gilbert decided he'd try to talk to the cold man, pulling up a chair to sit beside him.

"Do you have a story to tell?"

"Too many."

"I'm here all night."

Gilbert sat and listened to the man. His stories were much sadder than the ones told to him when he was still a kid sitting at the counter.

That's when Gilbert realized: he had grown up. This was his life now. He got the chance to reach out to these people and listen to them in a way no one else could.

He had the chance to give these people a home it seemed they all desperately needed.

Everyone here was alone. That's why they were all together.

And Gilbert, for one, loved it.


End file.
